


All That Glitters is Painted Over

by Pendles_is_friendles



Series: Alls the Thralls [10]
Category: Battleborn (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Galahadrim OC, Gen, Minor injury (though not too important), Originally Posted on Tumblr, Painting, Pica, Sad, Support
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 09:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20423852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pendles_is_friendles/pseuds/Pendles_is_friendles
Summary: After a rough stunt of wrestling with Boldur, TZ handles the matter of repainting his armour which drags up some painful memories.





	1. All That Glitters is Painted Over

Sitting cross-legged in his supply closet turned bedroom, TZ chewed on the end of his paintbrush as he turned his thigh guard over in his hands. All three eyes swept over the glossy black surface for any new chips or scratches from the day’s recording session. He had laughed when the loud, stump-backed dwarf suggested that “the copy-kitty baby” wear his “silly metal armour” for a round of wrestling, but from the flush of angry bruises across his side would attest, it seemed the dwarf knew what he was talking about.

How was he to know that the man named Boldur might as well have been made of rock?

But, as much fun as the day was, being thrown and knocked around while wearing painted armour meant new dings, chips, scrapes. TZ almost found the inspection relaxing; a small reminder of pleasant times of mundane routines shared with his boisterous squad after a long day of adventures. The reminder was unmarred by the deep, sinking ache of their absence.

Mostly.

Setting aside the undamaged shin guard, he picked up his helmet in both hands. His fangs dug deeper into the wood of the paintbrush as his fingers glided over the surface. A dip. Turning it over, he saw a large sweep of gold shimmering across the side of his helmet. The brush snapped in his jaws and the polish-drenched brush-tip fell bristle onto his pink UPR-supplied blanket. “Aww,” he uttered as he set aside his helmet to pick up the brush from his bedspread. Blue fingers struggled to rub the new dark stain from the rough surface but to no avail. He pouted at the wider blemish and the black tips of his fingers. “Oh come on…”

A sigh escaped him which drew a wince from his bruised rib cage. He pressed his hand against the scarred gills on his side, the slight give and stabbing pain hinted that he may need yet another trip to the medic. 

TZ snagged the helmet again and set it into his cross-legged lap. Slouching, he lowered the brush to cover up the pesky peek of shining metal; but he hesitated. His eye twitched.  
This wasn’t who he was; gold wasn’t his colour anymore. Not since…

The chunk of the wooden handle in his mouth splintered as he bit down on it again. He streaked the first glob of paint on the helmet, taking care to smooth it out into a thin coat. Sharp splinters dug into the inside of his cheek and gums. Sharp shards misted his eyes, or at least that would be his excuse. He rubbed one with the back of his hand as he moved to dip his brush for the next layer.

What would Bravo say about her golden squad member now? Would it be her usual rousing speech of “Buck up, bro! There’s bunkers to bust and depots to destroy! There’s no need to dwell on the past when the future’s so bright!” 

It did not seem right. More shards split, digging into the spaces between clenched fangs. He hummed the first tune that came to his head; anything to block out his CO’s voice booming across his thoughts as he pressed down the paint. “It was only a mistake. Anyone would’ve made it.” 

Her voice was clear as Nylo in the dark skies of Bliss. Paint bristles splayed across the slick paint, tiny bubbles mixed into the surface. “Ugh, no…” Sticking the handle between his fangs again, he used a corner of his already ruined blanket to smear them away. He needed to focus on this, not let his mind wander. Not another mistake…

“Tango, it’s all right! Just needs a bit of TLC and it’ll be like new again. No need to beat yourself up over it. No matter how much you screw up, it can be fixed.”

He hummed louder as he scrubbed harder; the more he scrubbed, the more gold peeked through the fresh paint. “Dammit!” He hurled the helmet and it bounced off his door onto the foot of his bed. Sniffing back the rising flood of tears, he struggled to close the lid on his jar of paint. “I messed up, I can’t fix this one.” 

The lid’s edge finally caught the rim of the glass jar and TZ screwed it closed till his knuckles turned white. This too was flung at the door and landed at the foot of his bed. He’d have to chip off the bubbled paint and re-do it tomorrow, it was an easy solution. Running his hand through his wavy bristles, his fingers left a dark streak across his scalp from the still moist paint stuck to the tips. With a soft hiccup that melted into a hint of a sob, he laid back onto his pillow and continued gnawing on the last half-inch of the brush's handle, the soft wood no challenge for his hard fangs.

“I can’t bring you guys back…”


	2. Special Effects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rictus discovers his star having a bad day and tries to help.

Struggling to grip the tiny keycard in his copious length of claws, Rictus lowered his head to inspect the keypad with a low thrum in his throat. Pinching the plastic between his the tips of the sharp nails, he narrowed his eyes as he dropped it through the slot with precise aim. The light on the door handle flicked green, and with a quick swipe of his tentacle he collected the key before ducking his head to slip into the clone’s domicile.

He scanned the empty livestream studio. It was not like TZ to sleep in and miss mic checks; because of TZ, Rictus suspected that clones never caught a wink of sleep. "Hello?” He called out in a low tone that echoed too much for the size of the room. “Z?”

Careful not to scratch the lacquered floor beneath his overgrown hooves, Rictus searched the tiny retrofitted comms tower for his good friend. After several unsuccessful minutes, he approached a nondescript door he had never seen open before. Lightly knocking with the tip of his claw, he called out, “'Ey ‘Z, are you there?”

An uncharacteristically unhappy groan leaked through the door. Rictus’s spinal plates rippled as he glanced down to the handle and back to the door’s centre. He was the one that would lock himself away with a sour mood and guttural responses, not TZ. TZ was the happy one. “I’m comin’ in, mate. It's just me.”

Another groan. When Rictus pushed the door open, things slid across the ground and the door stopped dead against the foot of what looked like a bed. TZ lay across a pink blanket splotched with black and his head tucked under his thin, flat pillow. Shuffling inside and carefully slipping his long plates through, the hoofbeast sat on the edge of the small mattress and closed the door in front of him for space. He turned his head to look at TZ over his shoulder, taking note that one of his spines rested against the wall. “So I take it there’s no recordin’ today?”

A dim yellow glow poked out from under the pillow before disappearing with another grunt of displeasure. “Not today. Not ever.”

“Alright then.” Rictus shrugged as he brought his attention back in front of him. Nestled in a few of his tentacles sat a black helmet with a half-smeared streak of gold. Accepting it into his hands, he turned it over to inspect it. He wasn’t sure where his inky limbs managed to pluck it from, but here it was. “We don’t got to do anythin’ then. I’m just goin’ to clean up?”

“’Kay…” he grumbled as he turned over so he could keep an eye on Rictus. “… come back when you’re done?”

With a positive thrum, Rictus stood up and slipped out of the cramped room with the helmet and the jar of paint in tow. Sharp claws drummed across the painted metal as he strode through the base looking for another supply closet or hopefully a maintenance room. With the UPR star logo splashed on almost every surface, this place had to have what he was looking for… he knew that there was no way they did those sharp lines and smooth coverage by hand.

Since he forgot his keycard back on TZ’s bed, it took a few keypads slashed to ribbons and several freezing hallways before the Thrall found his goal: an airbrush kit, complete with tape and tank of compressed air. Using a few tentacles, he made himself a comfortable place to sit and set up. A small frown twitched at his bottom lip as he regarded the gold splotch across the side of the helmet.

Rictus could not fathom a guess as to what it meant or if it was responsible for the odd rain cloud over TZ’s head. But, he did know that the clone preferred it black and shiny. Handing the armour off to his tentacles to tape off the faceplate and the sensors, he assembled and tested the airbrush by hand. With so many "hands" to help the gold was gone after just a few minutes and returned by its usual inky sheen.

Lowering his hooves to the floor, he peeled off the tape from the faceplate. Holding his head up a little higher, he trotted back to the comms tower TZ retrofitted into his home. No one could miss the smile across his disconnected face as he closed the distance.

He set the helmet down beside the computer, then fiddled with it until he was satisfied with its placement. With a wiggle of his claws, the Thrall inwardly beamed at the thought of TZ’s surprise when he discovered that it was restored to its camera-ready shine. Although, as his eyes trailed off to the supply closet where the cheerless clone laid across his paint stricken bed, perhaps the surprise would be a better gift once TZ's spirits were on the rise. For now, he needed… a fan? Or cameraman? Whatever Rictus was to him.

“Hey ‘Z? It’s me again,” he whispered as he angled his asymmetrical horns through the door. “Still want… me around or…”

Curled up in the tightest ball he could muster in one corner of his bed, TZ turned his head to regard the other out of the corner of his third eye. “Yeah…” he admitted as he made himself sit up. He wiped his face with his scarred forearm before patting the bed beside him. “I think I could use my bro…”

Rictus nodded, side-stepping into the small space. He crawled up onto the bed. Unable to turn in the cramped room without hitting TZ with either his horns or plates, he laid down on his belly and propped his head up on one arm. “Well, I’ll be here long as ya need, ‘kay?” He carefully rested his hand on the other’s arm and patted it. “We don’t got to do nothin’, unless you want to.”

TZ stared at the gangly, sharp hand on his arm, a small dribble of clear snot still clinging to his nose by a thin, clear string. He lowered his head and picked up the claw to place his large palm in his wavy hair. Unsure of what he was supposed to be doing, Rictus turned over just enough to help his arm make the stretch without knocking his plates into the wall. He let his fingers flatten the odd bristles, revelling in how smooth the Galahadrim's scalp felt. Unlike the warm hairy flesh of the thrall, TZ's skin was smooth, almost like fine scales.

TZ melted. He laid back down without moving away from the calming caresses. He rested his body against the Thrall’s. A cool tickle prickled at the augments down his spine as one of Rictus' dark tentacles rubbed his back. His mind fell quiet.

A quiet purr started in Rictus’ chest as the other’s warm body found rest against his. He stayed still, with the exception of his hand in his bristles, as TZ’s muscles relaxed. A taut, but pleasant static radiated from his chest. Maybe it was a sense of pride in helping his star find peace? Maybe he had an inkling of something more?

Rictus wasn’t sure if he wanted to answer that question. All he did know was that he was glad to be TZ’s “bro.”

TZ stirred to cuddle closer to Rictus. “I didn’t mean what I said earlier… I don’t want to quit.”  
The purple eyebrow ridge quirked as he curled his neck down to answer, “no worries, mate. We can film whenever you're ready.”

“Maybe later.” TZ buried his face into the hair that other’s chest. “Not today though. This is a good break.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a part of a collection of fics circling a handful of OCs of mine. Most were previously posted on Tumblr, but are being edited, reworked and reposted here for your reading pleasure. There's a lot more where this came from.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a part of a collection of fics circling a handful of OCs of mine. Most were previously posted on Tumblr, but are being edited, reworked and reposted here for your reading pleasure. There's a lot more where this came from.


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